


Icarus

by NEONVORE



Category: Friday Night Funkin' (Video Game), Pico's School (Video Game)
Genre: (Tags will be added as story continues), (Takes place in-game), BPD, Dissociation, F/M, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Multi, Schizophrenia, Self-Harm Tactics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29876568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NEONVORE/pseuds/NEONVORE
Summary: He'd stare until he felt the world behind him fade away, the only existence in the universe being him and this thing he was looking at. It was a moment of peace, of silence and just pure emptiness.
Relationships: (Ships that MIGHT happen in this fic), Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School), Boyfriend/Girlfriend (Friday Fight Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School), Girlfriend (Friday Night Funkin')/Pico (Pico's School)
Kudos: 23





	Icarus

Waking up every morning to the sound of the motors roaring was always a mixture of relief and annoyance. It was something that forced the ginger awake, but at the same time he'd much rather stay put. Stay in his bed, sleeping all day and waking up at 3 pm. And even then, perhaps going back to bed. It was rare he got times to sleep in like this, but he usually took it for-granted. Believe it or not, being a hit-man was really tiring. Seeing if you could trust a client or not, making sure they would pay you. Finding out how far the victim was, how you'd kill them, and how to escape the scene without being seen. 

He usually succeed, but it didn't mean it drained him to the core.

So today was like any other day off he had, which left the boy curled in his bed with his blankets twisted around him. The cars outside his apartment told him that it was nearing 1 pm, since it got busy on that street at that particular time. But what was the point of getting up? He was only going to lounge around his house, smoke a cigarette or two, maybe watch a movie till he passed out even.

It wasn't a depression thing, it wasn't anything. It was just the pure acceptance that he had no life outside his job, and he would happily sleep away the day. It was always that way, though he felt that as time went on, it only increased. Being a mental nutcase was not new, but having any ounce of acceptance to what life would throw at him? That wasn't exactly a Pico thing. He fought for his life, and sure as hell wasn't going to die. He was going to stay up and at it with his friends, go on with their usual tactics of stealing and screwing around with the city-people. So what if the police was on their tail, they were having _fun._ But it only went on forever it felt like. Only so many days out of laughing at people and screwing around could hold back the emptiness that swelled in his chest.

He opted to stay home as the two went out, busying himself with social-media (gross) until it got tiring and pointless. The exhaustion turned into anger, which slid right back into grief. Because how was it fair that he had to live like this?

Pico never cared for mental health. There was no point. The pills made you zombies, and even then he'd always have to fight the urge to abuse or overdose. It wasn't like he was trying to die, he just wanted to experience something. And the warmth and dizziness he got from it was more then enough.. Until he stopped taking them, of course. That had been years ago. In fact, the last time he even tried medication was when he was 13. It was for his supposed 'depression', but as time went on he began to understand that it was more then that. The emptiness was there, but alongside it was also a bundle of pure rage and hostility. 

It only increased after the shooting. You'd think it would be a sensitive topic, but Pico loudly spoke of it. Almost as if it hadn't happened. He got flashbacks, he got dreams and sure he even had the chaotic impulse to go open fire in any gathering. But if he made it not a big deal, then it wasn't. Darnell and Nene did the same, just not to such an extreme.

Nene had her own habits, and so did Darnell. So the trio never tried to offer one another help. Because it was hypocritical, and it was all they had anyways.

They had all moved together. Not with one another, but nearby. They scavenged enough cash to live in a less ratty area and tried to push the past away, and it worked for awhile. Nene got a job, Darnell was finding better ways to hold back his urges to set fires. And Pico got a boyfriend. It was short-lasted, and ended on a bad note. So with all the bad memories, it was pushed back and ignored until he'd eventually forget that it ever happened.

Of course life had to kick him in the ass, as he would eventually be face to face with his ex and his girlfriend in a matter of a few years. Pico didn't feel much, he didn't feel mad or sad. He just felt.. Wrong. Out of place, like nothing around him was real and that this was all just a dream. He strongly voiced his goal, which was to murder his ex. But he didn't, and for some reason the bastard kept in contact with him. He acted like nothing had happened, and that should of been a good thing for Pico, but it wasn't. He couldn't explain the feeling, it wasn't jealously or anything alike. It was a longing sensation, something that pulled at him each time the blue-haired loser would text him.

It wasn't a good feeling, and that was all that mattered. 

Speaking of which.. Pico, who was still covered in blankets, felt the gentle vibrations of his phone buzzing against his leg. The sensation made him kinda itchy, pulling him from his trance and forcing him back into the real world. He waited a solid 5 minutes before he shifted his legs to kick the phone closer to his body, reaching an arm lazily down to snag it and stare at it blankly. The words jumbled together as his vision tried to focus on the sudden brightness in his face, blinding him for a moment until it died down and became more tame. Obnoxious still, but at least less painful to stare at.

Multiple pointless emails, some notifications from countless things he could give less of a shit about, and a text or two adorning the bundle of pointless notifications.

One was from Nene, and the other from his ex. Or, Keith. His name was Keith. He had to stop doing that. The act to dehumanize the boy and erase him from his mind was strong, but he was just as stubborn as Pico was. He would pester him countlessly, even if Pico only replied with a threat or a single word. He didn't understand why he tried so hard, but he let him at it. He'd be disappointed when it didn't work, and Pico wouldn't feel an ounce of pity for him. 

Pico didn't bother reading the texts, setting the phone right back down and gazing up tiredly. He stares at the ceiling of his room, eyes glazing over the popcorn ceiling and making small shapes and animals from them. His green eyes set on a specific spot, and didn't let go. He kept staring until his vision blurred lightly, mixing into one another and obscuring the ceiling before him. It was a thing that happened often, eyes setting on something (anything) and unwilling to look away. He'd stare until he felt the world behind him fade away, the only existence in the universe being him and this _thing_ he was looking at. It was a moment of peace, of silence and just pure emptiness. He was always taken out of the trance, though. Let it be his eyes beginning to water and burn, or accidently looking down just a smidge too much and focusing on something entirely different.

Nene and Darnell let him stay in his own little place when it happened, but he found anyone else usually snapped him out of it. He wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing, or if he was supposed to be shaken back to reality or just left to float in his endless void.

Whatever it was, it was a part of his life now, and he would just have to deal with it until his brain decided to not space out so intensely.

So, what dared to bring him from his current trance? Nothing other then his phone buzzing. Again.

The red head pulled his eyes away and looked off to the side, staring at his phone silently. It didn't stop. It could be a client, a killer, Nene.. Or Darnell, or anyone. But he couldn't find the will to care, and even though he lazily stretched out his arm to bring the device closer, he found himself not particularly worried if he missed the call or not. He took his sweet time, rubbing his eyes lightly and just barely lifting the screen to his eyes.

\- Missed Call, Ex.

The name would have to be changed, but he opted to ignore the missed call either way. Forcing himself up, he moves to his feet and mindlessly walks out his room. He doesn't know where he's going, or what he's doing; all he knows is he's up. And that's about it.

He barely comprehended as he walked in the kitchen, not catching on as he fixed himself a bowl of cereal. Hell, he had even realized he ate it until he snapped back and found himself sitting on the floor of the kitchen. Blinking once, then twice, he looks to the empty bowl besides him and huffs. The spacing out could be a matter of seconds or even hours on an end. He didn't know what it was, or what it meant, but all that mattered was that _he_ wasn't there. His brain was on autopilot as he dazed about and thought about utterly nothing, only forcing Pico back to the wheel when it felt like it.

Which happened to be now. And happened to be after he (apparently) ate some cereal.. On the floor. The milk jug and box of cereal was actually on the ground, too. He stares at it before getting up and leaving the best behind, not bothering to look back. 

How was this fair? 

He was sitting on the couch, he wasn't sure what he was gonna do - but all he knew was that he was sitting. He was sitting. That was all he was doing. He was sitting on his couch, he was sitting and.. Why was he this way? The constant paranoia and raging rampages he went through, the thought that someone would murder him any second - that even his friends would. 

Pale hands gripped onto the cushions, digging nails into the fabric as the pale boy stared at the wall blankly. Why did he feel so empty, why did nothing feel real. Why did he feel like any moment, he would wake up. That this was a dream, a simulation, or a coma. What if it was nothing? All his life lead to an empty ending, a black void that would only swallow him hole and make him live forever, and ever, and..

The sound of knocking on his door tore him from his mental war, drifting his sight from the familiar sight of a blank white wall - and to the front door. He eyed it for a moment until he stood up, and walked to his room mechanically. His hands dragged across his messy dresser, pushing off some clothes and rummaging through drawers until he tugged out his uzi. It was cold, and it soothed him. He grounded him, feeling heavy in his grip and giving him some sort of reality that he was real. That he was in fact a living person, and nothing more or less. The what ifs didn't die down, but they were settled, and that was good enough.

He made way back to the door once he was satisfied enough, keeping a tight grip on the gun as he unlocked the front door and quietly opened it. Should he of asked who was there? Maybe. But it was too late, and if any killer was there to stab him, they would of by now. Instead, he was greet with the familiar sight of a small girl alongside a taller and more board man. Nene and Darnell. Right. They knew where he lived. Why wouldn't they, they never didn't know where he was. Why was he forgetting so many things? Things that he didn't want to forget. Simple things, every day life things, stuff that -

"Hey, you weren't answering your phone, so we came instead to see if you weren't dead." Nene says loudly, pushing pass him with Darnell following suit. Pico remained in the door way, looking outside still before exhaling heavily and walking back inside and shutting the door quietly. He locked it instantly, and turned to face the two. Nene was in his kitchen while Darnell sat on his ratty couch, flashing him a grin once he felt the other's eyes on him.

"Were you asleep? Sorry if we woke you up." Darnell says gently, shifting a bit to pat the seat next to him. "Yeah, you did. Its fine though, I shouldn't be laying all day anyways." Pico confirms, making his way to the couch and heavily plopping down on it.

The broad boy nods in agreement, wrapping an arm around him and tugging him closer.

Affection felt wrong. Verbal or physical, any ounce of positivity thrown his way made him feel gross and dirty. Words felt unconformable and gentle touches made him want to scream. He would much rather be yelled at or punched, it was somehow better in his eyes to a genuinely good and normal response from someone. Perhaps his brain was jumbled up, mixing good and bad and making him constantly wondering where he was. Whatever it was, he would have to suck it up. 

  
With that in mind, he gently tugged away from Darnell and stared forwards. "I thought it was a client. Or worse, the old-dude." Pico grumbles, arms gently crossing over his chest. "I needed a day to myself. I know its dumb, but I'm just really tired." Scoffing, Darnell shakes his head and sits up taller, looking to the red head with a frown. 

"Not at all, dude. Its fair. Killing people all the time is probably not fun. I mean, you should give burning places down a go - you'd be shocked how many people want someone to burn alive." His grim words had Pico holding back a laugh, eyes rolling as he shoved the other playfully. "Yeah, yeah. Its not the death, its just. You know.. Sometimes I just get tired." Tired and unable to keep a grip on reality, tired and feel utterly empty and hopeless and not even aware of the things around him or even what he was doing. "So a day or two to just sleep all day is good. Gets me bored anyways, so I get pumped for my clients." He shrugged.

Darnell knew not to push, so he simply nodded and looked off to the side. "Totally. I got it. Just know Nene and I are here for you, bro. If you need to chill for more then that, we can totes' scrape some bucks to help you." Pity, even worse then affection. "No way. You guys are in the same situation as I am; I'll be fine, trust me."

The boy frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted as Nene made her way to the two boys. "I cleaned your kitchen. Why do you eat on the floor? You have a table." She scoffs, forcing them to scoot aside for her to sit with then. "You're one to talk, Nene." Darnell snorts. "You literally hid food in your drawers for later until they were soggy." The dark haired girl blushes and wastes no time to punch him. "That was different! I had my reasons. Bug off. Anyways, _you're welcome,_ Pico." She nudges him gently, to which he nudged her right back. Perhaps a bit too rough, as she happily did it back - right into his ribs, in fact.

"Yoof!" He grunts, curling in on himself just barely. "Ye - Yeah, whatever. Thanks.. I didn't ask you to do it." 

"Asking or not, you know I like cleaning. Its nice. You should try it sometime."

You can clean my house once I die. 

The thought caught him off guard, brows furrowing as he thought it over. Why did he think that? 

I'll be forgotten in here and rot away, you won't have to see my dead body. I'll be mush.

That isn't how it worked.

It depends.

"How so?"

If you die on the bed, you stay long enough to rot into the bed itself. Like a gross human shake. 

"And if I don't?"

Then you rot on the floor, its your choice. I'm just giving you input. 

Input he didn't ask for.

"Pico?" Nene says, pouting as she watched him stare blankly at the ground. "Broseph, we're right here. Can you look at me?"

Why did he know how to handle him so well? 

She knows something. There's more to your broken brain, and she somehow has tamed the beast.

She has seen him at his worst. It was no shock she understood him so easily. He finds himself shifting in his spot and hesitantly looking up to meet her light eyes. Her eyes were blue. So light that her eyes almost looked as if they were white. He always found her eyes calming, like two bright stars. Perhaps he was thinking far too into it, feeling her hand gently reach for his and squeeze it lightly.

"We're sitting on your couch." She says in a quiet tone, Darnell watching from aside her curiously. "And now, we're gonna watch a shitty movie. That good?"

Right. He wasn't alone. "Fuck." He groans, looking down into his lap. "I'm sorry, it keeps happening. Its fucking annoying, I don't want you to have to deal with it." 'It' being the spacing out'. 'It' being the morbid thoughts, the urges to tear his skin off, to jump off the roof, to shoot himself in the head or maybe even give that sodium nitrate trick a go. It was on a sticky note in his bathroom, taunting him everyday.

This wasn't normal, was it.

"Its fine. You had to deal with me nearly cutting my limbs off." She snorts, patting his leg and bumping her shoulder into his.

"And me almost burning down my house. Twice." And on purpose, might you add. "Go out with the flames, its kinda spiritual or something." Nene hums in agreement, shooting Darnell a grin before she looked back to Pico. "We're all in this together, got it ginger? Now, you owe me some candy and a movie night. You ate all my chocolate last time you slept over." Pico seemed to be particularly bothered by that comment, perking up and poking at her with a scowl. "Thats your fault! You know I have no self control." Nene gives his cheek a soft tap before she leaned forwards to snatch the TV remote. "Neither do I. Call it even, mkay?"

So they were all screwed. Mentally, physically, just in general doomed. They knew they needed help, needed someone to piece together what was going on in their brains. Maybe even need each other, but it was proven pointless. They didn't know how to help themselves, so how would they help someone else? All they knew was how it felt to drown, not knowing how to save one another - but they knew they were drowning together, and that was enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is really dumb so sorry, im just projecting onto pico. all this is really just my own experiences, so in this fic pico will have schizophrenia and bpd. maybe some other disordered habits, we'll see if i really get that pathetic and force more of my issues onto him!


End file.
